Ebeling.
And--your parents?
Margot.
You refer to mamma? Mamma certainly means well. But mamma has torn my
soul from my body. She has made use of the old principle of family
rule--which may have had some sense in the Stone Age--and has turned me
into a doll, a doll-creature that moves its eyes and says _ba_ when you
press its head.--Just watch, Herr Ebeling!--Now haven't I a touching
fashion of casting up my eyes when I look at you in this simple,
thoughtful, innocent way?--And when I let the lids fall again in all
the bashful piety that I still can muster--isn't it simply sweet?
Ebeling (_earnestly_).
My dear young girl, I really believe I must begin to say "stop" now!
Margot.
Dear me! You're already disgusted with me! But if you had any idea--do
you know what you'd think? "Pity that I wasted such pains on a creature
like her!"
Ebeling.
I should never think that, my dear child. I should only pity you and
love you the more.
Margot.
I don't want to be pitied! And loved? (_Shakes her head._) At least not
that way--and not the other, either. That's still stupider. When I
listen to my friends--this one loves me, and that one loves me, and
this one kept my glove, and that one kissed my handkerchief--ugh! It
reminds me of the cackling of a lot of hens. Herr Ebeling, do you
believe criminals are scornful?
Ebeling.
Why do you ask?
Margot.
Please answer.
Ebeling.
It's very often true of born criminals.
Margot.
Well, then, I've the criminal nature.
Ebeling (_laughing against his will_).
Tut, tut, my dear child, why so--all of a sudden?
Margot.
Because I inwardly shrug my shoulders at everything that goes by the
name of Innocence. I keep thinking to myself, "You silly sheep, what do
you know about it?"--Ah, and yet, I envy them! At the balls, I see
everything as through a veil. The things that the men chatter about
sound far, far away--oceans off. I always feel like saying, "Don't
trouble about me. Go to that girl over there. She's stupid enough." And
then--after I've come home--I weep, weep from sheer envy and utter
boredom, weep until I have to turn my pillow.--And mamma? Mamma drags
me from ball to ball: I mustn't be unlike the others, you know!
Ebeling.
My dear child, if this goes against your nature, why don't you make
some resistance? Why don't you show your mother that you have thoughts
and feelings of your own which must be respected?
Margot.
Ah, my dear Herr Ebeling, just be a whipped dog yourself, year in year
out! The dog doesn't resist either--but suddenly, some day--when he's
at the very end of his endurance--he bites his master's hand. I shall
bite soon!
Ebeling.
Oh, I'll grant you that your mother has probably made some mistakes.
But only out of love, or because she knew no better. Just ask yourself
what would have become of you if you'd been left to yourself all this
time?
Margot.
I should have been embittered just the same--you're right--but I should
not have let myself fall.
Ebeling.
Who knows?
Margot.
Never! And I'll tell you something to prove it. Severely as I have been
watched--and--surely there's nothing coquettish about me?
Ebeling.
Certainly not.
Margot.
You can believe me when I say that, in the general moral tone
prevailing over our society just now--and of which our mothers
naturally know nothing--there lurks a temptation which has over and
over again enticed even me. Such things are so personal, so secret--one
cannot describe them. Oh, I could have done whatever I wished! But
I said to myself: the first time, you were ignorant, you were
sacrificed--or, at least, you can talk it into yourself that you were
sacrificed--but if ever again--no, I can't say it after all!
Ebeling.